


Beyond the Garden Wall

by Sana109



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: Awkwardness, Bad Puns, Character Death, Dark, Depression, Diary/Journal, Double Life, Dreams, Drowning, Drugs, Greg is Sweet, High School, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Near Death Experiences, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Purgatory, Sleepwalking, Step-Brothers, Step-parents, Talking Animals, Talking To Dead People, Teenage Drama, The Truth is Out There, The Unknown (Over the Garden Wall), Wirt goes to Therapy, Wirt needs a hug, Wirt's Poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26225515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sana109/pseuds/Sana109
Summary: Some things cannot be kept hidden. The Darkness hungers for what It has lost.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Beyond the Garden Wall

__

_It was dark again, darker than dark really, unnaturally dark. He tightened his grip on his only source of light in this desolate place, the tiny oil lantern that shown no more than a couple of paces ahead. Of all the places he could be, why was he constantly drawn back to this one?_

_There was movement at the edge of his vision; he turned swiftly to follow it. Before him was an impossibly darker pit of liquid that stank worse than a rotting corpse, thick and sticky bubbles being the only indication that it was not solid ground. He took a step back, only to trip over the uneven forest floor, his lantern spilling over and setting fire to the nearby grass. He was quick to gather the metal object to his chest, the dim fire from the blades alight casting enough for him to see. The tar-like substance began to move._

_At first, it stretched out in one place, which quickly became two, then three, as if whatever was trapped within its suffocating depths were trying to break free. Watching the... thing, struggle against its inky prison squeezed his heart in a vice-grip._

_As he began to reach for a nearby fallen tree branch, something pale white burst forth from the depths of the bog. A hand made a grasping motion, scrambling for something to grab on to as another broke through the surface to join it in its attempted escape._

_He quaked in anxiety as the flailing arms thrust down at the surface of the bog to push whoever, whatever, it was free, only for the hands to sink again, yet to seemingly make purchase upon something. From there, the third pressed upward, bulging as the tar-covered arms pushed and pulled._  
  


_Until they tore a hole in the middle._

_He sat frozen in fear at the harsh intake of a much needed breath. The wheezing grew harsher as the hole began to seal again, once again being torn open by the thing. He glimpsed a humanoid jaw and the mouth that gasped for air, the near-white skin contrasting harshly to the substance holding it in the dim light of the flames. He didn't know what would scare him more, if it were human or creature. But what terrified him the most..._

_...was the briefest glance he got of the pale glowing eyes peeking at him from that darkness._

~•~•~

Wirt jolted from his sleep with a start, adrenaline rushing his systems, leaving him panting and in a cold sweat. He held tightly to his bed sheets as the rush slowly faded from his being. He was home, not lost in the woods, not in The Unknown. He was safe here.

It had been almost a year since it had happened, almost an entire year since he had thought to have seen Hell itself, yet it still haunted his every living moments, his nightmares seeming never-ending. He would always return to that place, always the same place. He knew now that he had been lucky to escape. The Unknown did not let its prey go so easily.

He had tried to act natural, act like the nervous clarinet player he had been before, but every day he found himself a little more lost, and at night, each time he returned to that place, he felt a little more of himself die. But why was it so much more vivid now? With the lights on, he — .

Wirt's eyes fly open in panic as they glance to the closet. The light was out, leaving him in near complete darkness.

He bolted from his bed, stumbling as he ran to the pitch black room. He quickly undid the burnt bulb, his hand trembling as he reached for a new one. In his rush, he misses the box, knocking it to the floor as its contents spills out, a few of them shattering on the floor.

"No no no no!" he chattered as he flew down to find one that was still useable. In his haste, his fingers slip against the shattered glass of a bulb, cutting him deeply. He hissed out in pain as he kept up the search. Once he did find one, he sprung up to quickly screw it in. With a flicker or two, the light clicked on and he lets go a sigh of relief. A pale dim glow lit up the closet and bled out into his room.

With hesitance, Wirt moved back out of the small space and grabbed a trash bin and a first aid kit. This had been the fourth time in the past month he had awoken to a dark room and the twelfth time he had been jolted from sleep by that nightmare. Or was it a memory? He couldn't tell anymore. He tried not to think about what happened back then.

Once he had finished clearing the floor of broken glass, he drifted over to his night stand, opening the drawer to pull out the small leather-bound booklet he kept there. He flipped through the pages of old poetry he had written before the incident, letting a small smile of nostalgia spread across his lips. He quickly shook his head and returned to the task at hand.

Towards the middle of the book, the writing changed. This is where he started recording his thoughts and visions of The Unknown. Further to the back was the continuing nightmare.

It had started out as nothing more than a dream of walking through the darkened woods with naught but a lantern as his guide. It had continued like that every few nights a month, but as time progressed, more often he found himself within the darkness's strangling hold as he slept. It seemed almost reminiscent of a video game that lacked a save mechanic, having to repeat the same process each time it happened, each time going a little further.

_ Nov. 16 _

_The darkness has taken hold of me and has tried to swallow me whole, the lantern I carry my only salvation from this deep nothingness. I see trees, but they are not living in my mind, the crunch of long dead leaves underfoot. It's unsettling, but not entirely terrifying._

_ Nov. 29 _

_I feel as though this place is familiar to me, though I cannot place the source of this feeling. I feel as though I have been here before. Is this the burden I bear for escaping?_

_ Dec. 12 _

_I journeyed to that place again tonight as I slept. I think I'm looking for something, but I know not what it is I seek. This light I hold does little to illuminate my path._

_ Jan. 6 _

_I cannot banish these visions from my mind, they feel all too real. I know they cannot be, but that does nothing to calm my nerves. I think it best to leave the lights on before I drift to sleep._

_ Jan. 21 _

_Something strange happened that I cannot begin to explain. I awoke from the woods to find myself cloaked in darkness. There must be a reasonable explanation for the light burning out. Note: Get more lightbulbs._

_ Feb. 3 _

_I heard something this time as I traveled that dark place, something beyond my own footfalls. I could not see what it was, no matter how hard I searched, the light would not touch it._

_ Mar. 6 _

_I found the source of the noise this time. A gluttonous pit of inky black, devouring what little light I can cast upon it. It moves and gurgles slowly, like a thick stew prepared for supper. I had attempted to touch it, but awoke before I could._

_ Mar. 28 _

_This all consuming pit of darkness is ravenous. I can feel it crave all that dares touch it. It followed me to the waking world again, the light of my closet once again diminished. Stubbed a toe in the dark, requesting a personal medical kit should something like this happen again._

_ Apr. 1 _

_I wish this were just some sick joke. Is it toying with me? Much like the feline that taunts and teases its prey before it steals the life from it? Note: Get more lightbulbs._

_ Apr. 12 _

_The intervals are becoming shorter and shorter, as if building up, crescendoing to the orchestra's climax as the finale approaches. What happens at the curtain call, when this cacophony of noise draws to an end?_

_ Apr. 20 _

_The pit of darkness in my sleep moved. It moved with rigid motions and sudden jerks. Is there something lying and waiting below its surface? What will happen if I get too close? The room was dark again once I woke._

A shiver ran up his spine as he finished glancing over his previous entries. As he had thought; the nights were becoming closer and closer together. It filled him with a sense of dread. Would this trend continue until he would be plunged into that dark bog each time he closed his eyes? Shaking his head to clear his mind of such thoughts, Wirt plucked up his pencil and began to write what he could recall.

_Apr. 26 _

_There is something that lurks within that darkened bog water, if one could even call it water. I received my first glimpse of it this time. I cannot say for certain if it was human or not, but its eyes glowed like a predator on its nightly prowl and its skin shone pale white in the firelight._

He pauses his writing briefly, unsure how to put into words what he had seen. On one hand, that visceral, soul deep dread that had consumed him when those glowing eyes had landed on him was something he had not felt since that fateful night of All Hallows’ Eve. He had no such desire to feel it again.

But, on the other, what little he had seen of the pale figure had seemed human, despite the unearthly glow of its eyes. It had been struggling, gasping for air.

As if a light had gone off in the teens head, Wirt’s hand begins to move again.

_Looking beyond the ethereal glow, the fear I felt seemed as pale as their skin when compared to the terror those eyes held. Like a cornered animal, fighting, struggling to survive. Could what I am experiencing be something more than a mere remnant of my time amongst the dead?_

Closing the journal, Wirt lets out another sigh, leaning back in his chair. Glancing at his clock, a groan works its way from his throat. The sun wasn’t going to rise for another couple hours, so going back to sleep was an impossible venture given how wound up he still was.

With another sigh, Wirt stands and begins going through his morning routine.


End file.
